


Dami and the Ducklings

by Everblaze



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: And he adopts some of them, Brotherly Bonding, But Dami is very particular about his babies, Combat training for duckings, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian loves ducklings, Dick Grayson spills the secret, Dick also tries to help, Duckling army, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, He keeps Damian from killing people, POV Damian Wayne, Protective Damian Wayne, Sick Damian Wayne, Sparring, Thankfully Bruce lets him keep them, batfam, butter knives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everblaze/pseuds/Everblaze
Summary: “I must return to the Batcave.” Damian held out the box for Batman to see. “Their mother was murdered, and they were going to run into the street or get trampled. With your permission, I will take them home and ensure they are taken care of properly.”His father peered in, lips twitching ever so slightly as he saw what was inside. “I see. You will care for them?”Tt. Would he care for them? What sort of question was that? Damian pressed his shoulders back and stood taller. “Of course.”
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 68
Kudos: 472





	1. A New Home

Damian growled softly in his throat, kneeling down on the side of the street. Yes, he had stooped so low as to be walking _on_ the streets at night, but it was worth it. Gently picking up the duck which lay before him, Damian smoothed its white feathers. Some savage had murdered the poor thing, and now the pure white was marred with red bloodstains.

Reaching for the newspaper he had deposited on the sidewalk next to him, Damian began to prepare the poor creature for burial, humming quietly as he worked. The least he could do would be to take it home and bury the bird in the yard so that the predators of Gotham City could not rip the innocent duck to shreds. Wrapping the paper around the corpse, Damian’s brows furrowed as something small brushed up against his leg. He looked down, tucking in the final corner of the burial cloths.

A small duckling nudged its beak against Damian’s knee. Its should-be-fluffy little feathers were matted by the rain, but the yellow should-be-fluff still shown in bright contrast to Gotham’s greys and blacks. “Hello, there.” 

It cheeped, almost sadly, rubbing its feathers against his leg.

“Was that your mother?” 

Another soft cheep.

Damian’s brows furrowed, spotting several more ducklings a few yards down the street. They wandered in little circles, bumping into each other every so often. Hm. This was not good. He set the mother’s body on the ground beside him and scooped the baby duck up. Cupping the little thing in his hands, he held the duckling close to his chest. 

The duckling squirmed in his fingers but quieted as Damian closed the little hole he’d made with his hand, leaving the duckling in the dark. They like dark, warm places he’d found. “Shhh. It’s okay, Fredrick. I have you.”

Standing, he kept the duckling close to his chest. Unfortunately, the material of his Robin suit was not as soft as a t-shirt, but it would do for now. “Let’s go get your siblings, Fredrick.” He retrieved a small, cleanish box with a cover on his way over to them. Squatting down beside them silently, Damian began gathering the ducklings up and into the box, keeping Fredrick close to his chest. 

It took only a few minutes to get Fredick’s five other brothers and sisters into the box, and he smiled at their little selves as they snuggled against each other. “Okay, Fredrick. In you go.” Setting the duckling in with his siblings, Damian closed the lid of the box and then stood. 

He glanced up and down the alley before nodding. Good. No one had come by, so he was safe. It wouldn’t do to get attacked with a box of baby ducklings. Ducklings were pretty hard to protect as they didn’t seem to know to walk _away_ from the danger they were being protected from and instead tended to wander toward it. Damian tutted. Silly baby birdies. He would have to come back for the mother later. That’s what the mother would’ve wanted anyway: for her babies to be safe.

As he moved to start his ascent back up to the rooftops, a small whoosh whistled in his ear, the sound of someone landing near silently behind him. _Father._ Damian straightened, not turning around to face Batman until the box was secured in his arms. 

“Robin?”

Looking up, Damian met Batman’s eyes—or at the cowl which covered them—and reddened. Tt. He was caught. Now he would have to explain before he had already installed the baby ducklings at the manor, an action which made it more likely for the ducklings to be denied entry. 

“I must return to the Batcave.” He held out the box for Batman to see. “Their mother was murdered, and they were going to run into the street or get trampled. With your permission, I will take them home and ensure they are taken care of properly.” It would not do for the ducklings to suffer the same fate of their mother so soon after her death.

His father peered in, lips twitching ever so slightly as he saw what was inside. “I see. You will care for them?”

Tt. _Would he care for them?_ What sort of question was that? Damian pressed his shoulders back and stood taller. “Of course.”

“Run it by Agent A first, but you have my permission on the condition that you take care of them. Patrol is nearly over. I can take it from here.”

“Yes, sir. You have my gratitude.” Damian pulled the box back to himself, repressing a smile and ignoring the strange look Batman was no doubt giving him from beneath the cowl. 

“You are going to bury the mother?”

Damian gave a nod. “I will return for her after her children are safe.” 

“Good. Get some rest after.”

Preparing to leave, Damian nodded again. “Yes, sir. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Robin.”

~*~

Once he arrived back at the Batcave, Damian shed his Robin suit, showered, and dressed in the pajamas Alfred had left out for him, leaving the duckling box in a safe place. Exiting the shower room, he patted his hair to ensure it was neatly straightened. Good. 

Now to clean up the ducklings.

Before coming inside, he had buried their mother in the backyard underneath a bush. He hummed softly, picking up the box and heading up into the manor. It had been an honorable burial. Proper for that of the poor mother duck.

Soon, he came out upstairs and made his way to the bathroom, carefully avoiding running into anyone. Of course, Alfred knew he had the ducklings, but it wasn’t anyone else’s business. They could scare the little things on accident. Putting the box on the floor by the bathtub, Damian stopped the drain and started the water. Not too warm, but not too cold. Then, he laid out a towel along the edge of the bathtub on the floor in case water splashed up. As mentioned, ducklings were finicky little creatures. 

He unfolded the box lid, smirking as a few of the ducklings poked their heads up at him. “Okay. You must wash up now. It’s very dirty out on the streets.” Damian picked one up, cupping its squirming body in his hands. “It feels nice. I promise.”

Once set down in the water, the duckling tilted its head, looking around.

“Your brothers and sisters will be coming soon, Juliet.” Damian twisted to pick up Fredrick and deposit him in the water along with his sister. Fredrick chirped happily and began to chase Juliet. Damian snickered softly before adding Gema, Andrea, Rupert, and Edmund to the mix. 

Leaning forward with his elbows in the side of the bathtub, he bounced on his toes and watched the six siblings paddle around the tub. They were being quite noisy though. He frowned, glancing over to the half-closed door. Hopefully no one would be upstairs from patrol yet as they’d have to wash up, debrief, and the regular after patrol stuff. Turning his gaze back to the baby ducks, Damian grabbed a small container from the side of the tub. Time to add a bit of soap.

He dabbed a drop onto the palm of his hand before wetting both his hands and rubbing them together to create suds. First, Gema. Herding the duckling closer to him, Damian poured some water over her head before picking her up with one hand and patting the soap along the dirty parts of her back. Thankfully, ducklings were very good at cleaning themselves, so there was very little dirt left to wash away. When he set Gema back into the water, he rinsed her off then watched as she shook herself out, her feathers floofing.

Next was Rupert, the wriggly one who Damian was almost certain must’ve been more ticklish than Drake when Jason got to him. “Hold still, silly.” He laughed as Rupert tried to nibble his way out of Damian’s grasp. “You’re the muddiest one here. You need to clean.”

“Who’re you talking to, Dami?”

Jumping, Damian set Rupert back into the water—he’d have to rinse himself off—before spinning to the door. He willed the ducklings to be quiet, though they hadn’t stopped cheeping since he’d found them and they didn’t seem to plan to stop now. “No one.”

Grayson frowned, pushing the door fully open and peering in. “You talkin’ to yourself now, kid?”

“Tt. No.” Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, he wrinkled his nose. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Wondering what you’re doing.” Grayson wandered into the room, looking over Damian’s head and into the bathtub. “Are those baby chicks? They’re so _cute_!” His face lit up, and he was instantly kneeling, watching the little fluff balls intently.

Damian rolled his eyes with a sigh. “They’re ducklings. And chicks are baby chickens, so the term ‘baby chicks’ is unnecessarily redundant.” 

“Whatever.” Grinning, Grayson reached forward into the water to pick up Juliet who frantically paddled away from his hands.

“Hey!” Damian smacked Grayson’s arm with a glare. 

“Whaat?” 

Squinting, he pointed to the sink. “Wash your hands first. And _then_ I’ll consider showing you how to hold them properly. Also, you cannot scare them, Grayson. They startle easily.”

Grayson raised his eyebrows but obediently moved to wash his hands. “When did you learn about this sort of thing?”

“I always knew.”

“Of course you did.”

“Yes. Now if you are going to hold them you may as well be useful and help wash Gotham’s dirt from their feathers.”

“Sounds delightful.” Drying his hands off, Grayson returned to kneel next to the tub beside Damian who had scooted to the floor. “How do we start?” 

“First, you must not be _boisterous_. Gentle movements. They are babies.”

Grayson nodded with a grin, laughter dancing behind his eyes. “Sure can do, lil’ brother.”

“Tt.” He’d see about that. “Next, pick them up like this.” Reaching out for Juliet, he put his hand under her, pulling her up and toward him while at the same time cupping his other hand over her wings. “See. That way they cannot squirm too much.” He looked down at Juliet as she squawked. “Hello to you too, Juliet.”

Grayson blinked as if surprised. “So I just take one.”

“Carefully, yes.” He nodded. “You may want to get some soap first but there is some already in the water, so we may be good.” 

“Great.” Reaching out, he attempted to take hold of Andrea...failing dreadfully the first time and just watching wistfully as the duckling hastily swam away. “Come baaaack…”

Damian sighed. Idiot. “You have to still be quick when you snatch them. They are not used to being handled.”

“Mmm.” He tried again, this time snatching up Edmund semi-successfully. “Does this one have a name?”

“Yes. That is Edmund.”

“Huh.” Grayson laughed as Edmund squirmed in his hands. “Hey, stay still, Eddie! Did you seriously name all of them?”

Nodding, Damian set the now clean Juliet back into the water and picked up Fredrick. “I did. This is Fredrick. He doesn’t mind being called Fred, though. That,” he nodded to the lone dirty duckling, “is Andrea.”

He laughed again. “Your naming skills are..not as bad as I expected, Dami.”

Huffing, Damian, worked to rub the dirt out of Fredrick’s fluffy head. “I am decent at it.”

“I’d say so. Where’d you find them? Does B know about them?”

“Yes. I found them on the streets after their mother died, and Father said I may keep them if I take care of them.” Damian set Fredrick down and scooped up Andrea. “How long is it going to take you to clean Edmund?”

“As long as it takes. Do not rush the grooming process, dear brother. This little guy just needed some extra love.”

Looking over to see Grayson cuddling the duckling against his cheek, Damian raised his eyebrows. “Hm.” He was not necessarily _wrong_ , but… “Well, hurry up. They need to get to bed.” 

“So do you.”

He sent Grayson a _look_. “Well shut up and finish cuddling with the duckling. Also you stink.”

“I showered!”

“Tt.” Obviously not enough. Standing up, Damian reached over to unplug the drain, covering it with the girl’s little drain cover thing which kept their hair from clogging up the drain so that the ducklings wouldn’t try to inspect the pipes. 

Grayson sighed before setting Edmond down. “Be a good boy, Eddie.” He smiled as the duckling quacked in response, then looked over at Damian. “Do you have a place for them to sleep?”

“Yes. I just need to dry them before I take them there.”

Nodding, Grayson stood, wiping his hands on his pants like the dufus he was. “I’ll leave you to it then. Assume you don’t want help?”

“No, thank you. ‘Night.” 

Damian stood still as Grayson hugged him—as was the custom when he said good night. “Night, Grayson.” Watching him leave, Damian took a towel. Thankfully, it took little time to dry off the ducklings and finish getting ready for bed, so he ran into no one else as he made his way to his room.

Shutting the door behind him, Damian padded over to the little comfy box he’d made up for the ducklings. “This is your new home.” Opening it he released them from the towel and helped them into the box. “Rest well, okay? Titus will watch over you very well, and I will be right up there if you need me.” He pointed to the bed, squatting down beside the box as to be near to them. 

Their little cheeping grew softer as they settled down in their new home, and he stroked their feathers. “There you are. Hello, Fredrick.” The duckling pressed his head up into the palm of his hand, and Damian smiled a little. “I’m glad you’re here too. You will be safe here. Rest well.” He stood up, frowning as Fredrick began to jump up and down, his little wings flailing. “I will be right in my bed. It will be okay. I am still here.”

Stepping back and sitting against his bed, Damian sighed. The cheeping was only getting more urgent. Poor thing… He sighed and bent down, scooping up the duckling and holding him to his chest. “You miss your mother don’t you.”

Fredrick snuggled against Damian, peeping sadly.

“I know. It’s sad.” Scooting into the covers, he swallowed, keeping Fredrick close. “I miss my mother too...” Damian sighed softly, shifting to his side in order to cradle the duckling without smothering him. “She loved you very much, Fredrick. Don’t ever forget that.”

A small cheep sounded from beneath his blankets, and he felt Fredrick wiggle out from his hands and up to his cheek, nestling down by his chin. Feathers brushed against Damian’s chin.

He yawned, smiling ever so slightly. “Goodnight, Fredrick.”

“Cheep!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be one short little one-shot with Damian and an adventure with his little ducklings. However, this is now three times as long as I meant it to be, and I'm only on the first part of the idea. So. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more and finish the story as I'm super excited, and I love Damian with his little pets.


	2. When Crazy People Give Good Ideas Their Craziness Can be Tolerated. Slightly.

_ Bzzz. _

Twisting beneath his covers, Damian reached over to turn off his alarm clock, only to freeze as something tickled his chin. He frowned. There was  _ fluff _ in his face. 

_ Bzzz.  _

Fluff. Ducklings. Frederick. Damian’s eyes widened. Hopefully he hadn’t squished the little thing.

_ Bzzz. _

He grunted. Tt. Annoying alarm clock. He switched it off and turned on the light by his bed, careful not to crush Fredrick as he did so. 

“Cheep!”

“Good morning, Frederick.” Pulling back the covers, Damian slid off the bed and onto the floor, resituating his pajama pants so they were no longer bunched up by his knees. “We need to check on your brothers and sisters. They must have missed you last night.”

Frederick scuttled across the pillowcase and then into Damian’s hands.

He put the duckling into the box by the bed, kneeling down to see all the ducklings better. Edmund, Andrea, and Juliet were still asleep, their little fluffy bodies clumped together in one corner. Meanwhile, Rupert and Gema had already awakened with Gema watching Rupert try to climb onto his sleeping brother and sisters as if he was trying to be king of the mountain. 

It was a worthy quest. Unfortunately for Rupert, Juliet woke up once her head had been stepped on one too many times, and she gave a loud cheep of protest. She poked him with her beak, and Rupert tumbled backward to the box floor. 

Damian giggled. “Careful.” At least the box was padded, so Rupert should be fine. Glancing at Titus, Damian rubbed behind the dog’s ears. “Watch out for them while I eat, okay? Alfred won’t let me take them downstairs, and I cannot let the others know about them.” If Grayson hadn’t blabbed on him already. He’d better not have.

Titus barked in approval and leaned down to watch the ducklings. 

“Grayson thinks they’re cute.” Tilting his head, Damian joined Titus in studying the birds again. “While I don’t believe they would appreciate being described in such a demeaning way, the sentiment Grayson puts behind the word seems genuine. Also I cannot think of another word to describe them, so it’ll have to do.” He patted Gema’s head as she looked up at him. “You’re cute. In a good way.” 

Nodding, he departed from the duckling’s residence by his bed and dressed in civilian day clothes. Surprisingly, they were not as bad as he had first made them out to be. He pulled a red t-shirt over his head and fixed his hair, checking it in his mirror. Perfect.  _ Wait. _ Almost. He pushed a rouge hair into place. There. All ready. 

~*~

Chewing on one of Alfred’s superb pancakes (you may fight him on that. Dami will win. No one can beat Alfred’s pancakes.), Damian eyed the others sitting at the table. Duke Thomas sat calmly across from Damian with his bowl of strawberries, listening to Grayson who had inhaled his fourth doughnut of the morning while somehow talking 178 miles an hour at the same time. Damian rolled his eyes, only keeping an ear out for any mention of ducklings in case he needed to shut that conversation down. 

Stephanie Brown, dressed from head to toe in purple, pink, and sparkles (not surprisingly), sat to Grayson’s left, laughing every so often at something Grayson said, but she was otherwise occupied with her own thoughts and waffles. 

Damian took another bite of pancake, glancing at the door as Drake walked through. His eyes narrowed, inspecting the teen. At least he’d done his hair this morning. Maybe. It was honestly extremely hard to tell because it always fell into his face. 

“Morning, Tim!” Brown grinned, waving a fork of waffle in the air.

A pair of ‘mornings’ from Grayson and Thomas echoed Browns’, but Damian just gave Drake a look.

Stumbling over to the coffee pot, Drake held up a hand of greeting. “Top ‘o the morning to ya.”

Damian rolled his eyes for the second time that morning. Drake really needed to get his sleeping habits straightened out before he tripped on the stairs somewhere out in public and tumbled down them. Although, admittedly, that would be amusing, it would also be humiliating for the family. So that couldn’t be allowed. 

He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table as he finished up the last of his pancakes. Thankfully, Drake made his exit as soon as he had retrieved his oh so precious coffee. Damian sighed, rubbing his forehead. Drake in addition to Brown were absolute nuisances. At least Thomas was...mostly all right. Grayson was tolerable. Most of the time.

“And so I came into the bathroom last night, thinking Damian had finally gone nuts and started talking to himself and—”

Jerking from his thoughts, Damian whirled around towards Grayson, eyes flashing. “Don’t you  _ dare _ !” He scrambled up on the chair, jumping off of it and flying across the table toward Grayson. The idiot. What was he  _ thinking _ ?

Grayson grunted as Damian hit him full-on, knocking both boys to the ground. “It’s fine! I’m just—”

“Hush it!” Pinning him to the ground, Damian shot Grayson a dangerous look. 

“But—!?”

“No.” He pressed his legs against Grayson’s middle as a warning signal. “Don’t you even—Ah!” A strong hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. Damian glared, squirming. “Let go!”

“Master Damian, what have I said about fighting in my kitchen?”

The boy winced at Alfred’s tone. “Not to. But he was going to tell—!”

“It doesn’t matter. You still do not attack him. If I let you down, you will apologize and help your brother up.” It wasn’t exactly voiced as a command, but there definitely wasn’t an option to disobey, either. 

Damian’s gaze darkened, and he huffed. “Fine.” Once his feet hit the floor, he turned to Grayson sharply. “I suppose I’m sorry for attacking you. But if you dare say  _ anything _ about them…” He let the threat hang there for a second, gathering himself as Alfred took a step back. 

“Hey, Little D. Don’t worry about it! I don’t think the others would mind knowing you’re keeping a bunch of adorable baby ducklings in your room. Totally cool.”

Damian’s lips straightened into a tight line, the knowledge that Alfred was standing behind him being the only thing keeping him from full out attacking Grayson. The  _ idiot. _ He was going to pay for this.

Brown promptly squealed—as was to be expected—, and he cringed, crossing his arms. “Yeah.  _ Totally cool _ , Grayson.” Damian clenched his fists, eyes darting to the exit. The chance that he could reach the door before Brown exploded was unlikely. She would just follow him. She was good at that (and in general, being annoying) when she wanted to be. 

“You have  _ ducklings _ and you didn’t tell us?!” She leaned forward in her chair, eyes sparkling. “Are they fluffy? How many of them are there? Did you name them? And most importantly, can we see them??” 

“You are worse than Grayson. You will scare them and give them a heart attack. So no, you cannot.”

Brown’s face fell. “Oh come oooon, Dami. It’d be fun!”

“I do not believe it would hurt if Miss Stephanie was careful, for her to see them, Master Damian. I’m sure they would love to meet some new people. From what Master Richard has informed me, they were quite agreeable.”

Of course. Damian groaned and headed for the door. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone else. Got it?”

“Okay!” Bouncing after him, Brown followed Damian to his room, Grayson at her heels. 

Titus barked as the others entered the room with him, but Damian patted his head. “Alfred said they have to come.” He glanced around the room, looking for a place they could sit without worrying about the ducklings getting away or into something dangerous. He put the lid on the box. “We’re going outside to the backyard.” That way, at least if the ducklings did escape, they would be able to fend a little better for themselves. And the yard was fenced in, so that would work.

Picking up the box, Damian straightened and led the way back out of the room. He did his best to ignore their bounciness (specifically Brown’s) and focus on the sweet cheeping inside. They must be curious where he was taking them.

Once they reached the backyard, he sat down with the box in an open patch of grass. He opened the lid, repressing a smile as Fredrick let out a triumphant chirp. “Hello, Frederick.” Damian glanced up at Grayson who was watching in eager expectation. “You may hold one, Grayson.”

Grayson swooped in and grabbed Juliet, patting her head and holding her as he had been instructed last night. Juliet squirmed, cheeping happily. “Hello to you too, Edmund!”

“That’s Juliet.”  
Frowning, Grayson studied the duckling. “Really? How can you tell?”

“Well Juliet and Edmund look similar but Edmund has a bit more brown feathers and isn’t as feisty as Juliet. She and Rupert think it’s a competition to see who’s the best.” Picking up Fredrick and Gema, Damian made a little circle-like pen with his legs in the grass before setting them down into it.

“Oh. Huh. Well, Hi, Juliet. You’re a very pretty little bird.” He grinned and petted her feathers, settling down on the ground. “Look Steph, isn’t she pretty?”

“Yes. Very fluffy.” Nodding with her own grin, Brown rocked back and forth on her heals where she had settled beside Grayson. Thomas stood behind her.

Damian sighed, sensing their impatience. “Brown, if you must hold them, look at Grayson. He’s doing a passable job of doing it. Watch it, though. They squirm. Here, take Andrea. She’s a quiet one” He picked up Andrea and handed her to Brown, making sure the girl’s hands were placed correctly before he let go.

Giggling, Brown let out a gasp and held the duckling close, almost vibrating with excitement. 

“Careful.”

“I will!” Shifting, she looked down at Andrea, her eyes sparkling. “She’s so cute.”

Damian nodded, and Grayson gasped. “Did you just admit that they’re cute, Little D?!”

With a groan, Damian picked up Edmund and held him out to Thomas who took the duckling carefully. “Yes, but don’t let it get into your head.” So that Rupert wouldn’t be lonely, he added the last duckling to the group in his lap. “I’m plan to find a better descriptor for them, but it must do for now.”

“Well,” Brown huffed with a smile, “ _ I  _ think it’s  _ perfect _ .” She turned to watch the triplet in Damian’s little pen and laughed as the three ran around after each other. “They look like a little army darting after each other.”

“What?” Damian frowned, titling his head down at the ducklings. They ended up running in circles and getting all mixed up—nothing close to what an army should look like. What was Brown even seeing? “They don’t look anything like an army.” He glanced up at Grayson for approval of his statement, but Grayson just frowned too.

“I dunno. They kinda look like they’re sparring.” He laughed, petting Juliet’s feathers again.

Okay, that was...better. But still. Damian snorted at the idea of ducklings sparring. That would end in absolute disaster. However...it would be good for ducklings to protect themselves. Sparing wasn’t  _ exactly  _ the kind of training he would approve for his baby ducks, though. 

Laughing more, Grayson doubled over, interrupting Damian’s thoughts. “Though can’t you imagine? Them all running together in a group after someone with a cheepy battle cry of “ATTACK THE HUMAN!!” And they’re just fluffy and adorable and the person just dies of cuteness. It’d be  _ perfect _ .” 

Damian squinted at Rupert, Frederick, and Gema as they pecked each other. Interesting. He’d have to think about this. The idea of the ducklings running after a shocked Drake, was, he had to admit, very amusing. He snickered. 

“What you thinking about, Little D?” 

Damian shook his head, brushing off Grayson’s question. “Nothing.” For now. They’d just have to see.


	3. Duckling Army Bootcamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little ducklings receive basic training.

Damian leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table, cupping his steaming mug between his hands. Glancing around the near-empty room, he sipped his hot chocolate.

Most of the family was still asleep from patrol the night before, but Drake was awake, drinking his coffee. Tt. That was a polite way of putting whatever Drake was doing. The idiot was practically chugging his third cup in the last ten minutes, mumbling incoherently about things Damian didn’t care to pay attention to. Unfortunately, this had become normal ever since Pennyworth had banned computers at the table.

Turning away from Drake, Damian blew on his hot chocolate with a huff. You see, Pennyworth had _also_ banned anyone under thirteen from drinking coffee (along with many other things, but that is an issue to take up another day). But this was obviously targeting him as no one else was that young. Damian narrowed his eyes. He could handle coffee. He wasn’t like _Drake_. He—  
  
 _Thump.  
_  
Damian inwardly groaned. Drake really was an idiot. He needed to—  
  
“I”m fiiiine. Thanks for asking.” Tim grunted from across the room, picking himself up off the floor. Mumbling, he grabbed his oversized coffee cup and made for the door.   
  
Damian shook his head. It was a wonder Father hadn’t kicked the imbecile out of Wayne Manor yet. Drake just fed on his family’s hospitality without giving much in return. The teen was a reasonable detective, Damian had to give him that, but his fighting skills were subpar and sloppy. And his coffee addiction was causing him to look shamefully stupid and unprepared for life.  
  
Frowning, Damian clenched his fists as a door down the hall slammed shut. He needed to do something about this before it got out of hand. Father was obviously not going to take action. If Drake was going to hold the family name, he should have to do it with work and effort. Damian nodded to himself and put his cup down. Perhaps this could be woven in with the duckling training he was going to have this afternoon.

~*~

“So.” Damian knelt down on his bedroom floor, looking into the box of ducklings. “We are now going to commence your training. Soon you will be fit to defend yourself and others in the real world.”  
  
Rupert squawked, jumping up onto a sleeping Juliet’s back and then out of the box. Damian grabbed him. “Good escape tactic. But we are not working on escaping yet.” He couldn’t have them all escaping his care before they were ready. “We’re going to start with the basics.” Setting Rupert onto this floor, Damian shifted to make a circle around the duckling with his legs.  
  
“First, you must learn to be strong, Rupert.” Glancing around the room for his materials, Damian found what he was looking for and pulled a small wooden block off his nightstand. “In order to carry a weapon, you must be able to handle the weight of it. One beginner mistake is to use a weapon you are not strong enough to use.” He set the block down in front of Rupert. “Push the block.”  
  
Rupert stared at the block for a minute before running around it.  
  
“No no no.” Damian pushed the block with his finger to demonstrate. “Move it.”  
  
The duckling cheeped and darted for the block, jumping up onto it.  
  
Well, that wasn’t bad bounding, but that was not the assignment. Damian sighed, watching Rupert as he danced and cheeped up on the brick. This might be a bit more difficult than he had expected.  
  
“Okay, let’s try this again.” Picking up Rupert, Damian held the duckling in one hand. “See the block?”  
  
Rupert peeped happily and wriggled against Damian’s hand.  
  
“Push it. Like this.” He pushed the brink with his finger and then looked down at the duckling. “See? Easy. Your turn.” Damian set Rupert in front of the brick and pushed it again with his finger. “Push, Rupert.”  
  
Rupert looked up at Damian, tilting his head.  
  
A smile flicked on the edges of Damian’s lips, but he gave the duckling a look. “You can do it, Rupert. I believe in you.” Those words were supposed to be motivating—at least for the others when they trained. _He_ didn’t need motivation. No, Grayson just thought those kinds of things helped when they were training. Clearing his throat, Damian gave the duckling a nudge. “Do it for your mother.”  
  
Rupert squawked before running into the block and pushing it a few inches.  
  
“Good job! Do it again.” And the duckling did, pushing on the block with his beak before realizing that using his side worked a lot better. Damian grinned. Rupert was actually getting this. After a few minutes, he picked Rupert up and cuddled him close. “Good job, Rupert. You get a break now.”  
  
He smiled and put Rupert back into the box. Who would be next?  
  
Sleepy eyed Gema watched him from the back of the box. Frederick pecked at the hay, scuttling around with a bouncy air. “Frederick, it’s your turn now then. All of your other siblings are sleeping.”  
  
“Turn for what?” Climbing into the room through the window, Grayson shut it behind him. “Aww, the baby chicklings!” He grinned, and Damian shot him a look.  
  
“They are baby ducks. Not “chicklings. Get it right.” Rolling his eyes, Damian picked up Fredrick. “It is his turn for strength training.”  
  
Grayson raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Strength training. For the _ducklings_?”  
  
“Yes.” Of course Grayson wouldn’t understand. He was softer than the average fighter and enjoyed...frivolous things, and being easy on people. Pennyworth said he and Grayson just cared for people in different ways. Grayson’s way got people killed, though.  
  
“Little D?”  
  
Damian focused harder on Frederick, placing the duckling in the circle of his legs. “Hm.”  
  
Striding across the room, Grayson eased himself down beside Damian. “So what are you doing?”  
  
“Training them.” He grabbed the block and moved to place it down in the arena created by his legs, but Grayson snatched the block away. “Hey!” Reaching out for the block, Damian shot Grayson the second look in the two minutes since he’d arrived. “Give it back, Richard!”  
  
“No.” Grayson set the block down and pointed to Fredrick. “Who do you have there?”  
  
“He’s Friedrick. Now give the block back, you imbecile. That’s mine.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll give it back Little D. Just not yet.” Pausing, Grayson glanced back at the box of ducklings then back at Damian. “So, Freddy over here is going to get training? What sort of training?” He held up the block to inspect it.  
  
“He likes to go by Fredrick or Fred. Not Freddy. Strength to start and then we’ll move on to weapons, defense, and attack.”  
  
His older brother's eyebrows shot up again. “You’re giving the ducklings a duck version of _Robin_ training?”  
  
“Better than that.”  
  
“I see.” Grayson handed the block back to Damian and leaned back on his hands, frowning.  
  
Damian set the block down. Finally. Grayson was the worst sometimes. “All right, Frederick. You see this block? We’re going to push it.” He gave the block a nudge with his finger again.  
  
“Dami, why are you teaching the ducklings combat techniques?”  
  
“Because.” He narrowed his eyes and picked up Fredrick, placing him in front of the brick.  
  
“Because what?”  
  
Frederick chirped and ran around it.  
  
Damian gritted his teeth. “Leave me alone, Grayson. I don’t have time for your questions.” If Grayson pushed much longer, he was going to feel the sting of a katana in his side. Couldn’t the idiot realize he was doing important things here? His fists clenched and Fredrick cheeped in concern.  
  
“Hey, you okay, Dami?”  
  
Damian took a slow, measured breath. Calm. A warrior has control over his emotions. “Fine. I should get back to this, and you should get back to work.”  
  
“I don’t have to for a bit, don’t worry.” He paused, watching as Damian attempted again to make Fredrick push the block. “Why is this so important to you?”  
  
Damian’s back stiffed, and he frowned.  
  
“If I may ask. It seems very important to you that you train and take care of these ducklings, and I’m curious why.”  
  
Grayson could tell this was important to him, huh. This was important to him? Looking down at Fredrick, Damian rubbed his fingers against the baby’s feathers. “I want them to be safe. They do not have their mother to take care of them now.”  
  
Humming, Grayson nodded, watching them. “So you feel responsible for them?”  
  
Tt. That was one way to put it. “If you must call it that.”  
  
“And you feel like taking care of them includes giving them combat training?”  
  
“Yes.” How was he so thick? “Now would you please exit my room. I did not give you permission to enter.”  
  
Grayson sighed, jumping to his feet with ease. “All right, if you insist. Perhaps we can talk later.”  
  
How about never. Damian nodded. “I do insist.” He fought to keep his voice steady as it should be. Steady, but firm so that Grayson knew he was serious. “Good day, Richard.”  
Heading to the door, his older brother pulled it open and turned around to face him. “One last thing. I was looking for a butter knife to butter my waffles with, and there was none. Alfred said to ask you about them.”  
  
Damian narrowed his eyes at Grayson. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get out.”  
  
The older brother did not look convinced, but obeyed, leaving the room. Once the door had shut, Damian rolled his eyes. He had only taken six of them. Surely Alfred had more Grayson could use if he really wanted. He was probably just being nosey. Everyone here thought they had a right in his business. And what he did. At least when he lived with his mother, no one questioned him and what was his and what was the League’s was clear. Here...everything seemed muddled and ambiguous.  
  
“Cheep!”  
  
Oh right. The ducklings. Damian looked down and scooped Fredrick up, holding the baby close to his chest. “Hi, Fred.”  
  
The squirmy duckling cheeped again but pressed against Damian.  
  
“It’s been a crazy few days, hasn’t it?”  
  
Frederick squawked.  
  
“Mmhm.” Damian nodded, running his fingers over Fredrick’s fluffy feathers. “I’m sorry about your mother, little one. But I will make sure you are ready for the world so that you do not have the same fate your mother did. You will get lots of practice. I will make sure of it.”

~*~

A mischievous glint flashed across Damian Wayne’s features as he made his way from the living room several weeks later. Once he was successfully far enough away, he flew down the hallways of Wayne Manor. His footsteps silent against marble floors, he dashed upstairs and into his room. It was time for the next major milestone of duckling bootcamp: weapons.  
  
Closing the door behind him, Damian momentarily let a smile grace his lips when he was greeted with a chorus of little duckling cheeps. “Evening.” He strode over and knelt down next to them. “Ready for training tonight?”  
  
Gema looked up, her eyes wide with what he was going to identify as excitement.  
  
“Wonderful. Titus?” Damian spotted him lounging beside his bed, and the loyal dog lifted his head obediently. “Please oversee the ducklings warm ups.” Not that they had that many warm ups; it was more of a formality. Turning away, he approached one of his stand up dressers, pulling a lower drawer open to retrieve the butter knives he had “borrowed” from Pennyworth. The butler would disagree with the statement, but borrowing something means that you plan on giving them back. Which he did—just perhaps not anytime soon.  
  
Smirking, Damian brought the knives back to where Titus had unleashed the ducklings onto the floor. “Let training commence. Edmund. Come.”  
  
The leader of the Duckling Army Division looked up at his name and ran over to Damian.  
  
“Good boy.” Damian smiled, petting the duckling’s feathers. Edmund had proven to be exceptional in training, both in strength and response to commands, so he was the obvious leader for this little army of ducklings. “So, I have had you working with your harness and false weights. Now it’s time to put everything together.”  
  
Edward looked up at Damian and squawked.  
  
“Yes, it will be different. But I would not assign this to you if you were not ready.” Pulling out Edmund’s harness from the basket, he wrangled the duckling into it. The straps wrapped around Edmund’s chest and back with a holder for the butter knife on top.  
  
Once the harness was on, Damian let Edmund down. “Stay.” A squawk affirmed that the duckling had heard his command, and he stayed still while Damian grabbed a butter knife. “All right. Here comes the new part. Focus, Edmund.” Damian quickly strapped the knife into its place. A warm, indefinable feeling filled his chest. “You look very nice, Edmund.”  
  
Indeed, the duckling looked both fierce and regal with his little harness and weapon. Just the way a soldier should. Unable to repress his excitement, Damian squirmed slightly in anticipation. “Edmund.” He met the duckling’s eyes, flooding his voice determination. “Attack.”  
  
 _“Squawk!”_ At full speed, Edmund darted across the room, balancing the knife masterfully.  
  
Damian smiled. His duckling army was one step closer to teaching Drake a lesson and defending themselves. That little battle cry alone would take them far in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Sorry I kinda disappeared off the face of the earth. I had my first semester of college, and it was a bit crazy. :P I'm on break until January now, though, so I'm going to try to be writing some more. We shall see how that goes. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm so excited for the next two chapters (the next one is already plotted out)! See you around! :D


	4. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brown! I’m going to murder you in your sleep with your stupid sparkly purple waffles!”
> 
> Also known as:
> 
> Damian gets sick and Stephanie reports it to Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being a bit rough as well more off-topic than I had hoped, but it was fun to write. I hope y'all enjoy. :)

Damian grunted as his shoulder slammed full force into Grayson’s stomach, resulting in a satisfying grimace from his sparring opponent. He smirked and glanced at the time on the clock before reinforcing his hit with several jabs. 10 seconds remained on the clock. Grayson had decided to shake the routine up and have a few matches end at a time, not when there was a clear winner. Damian sucked in a breath of air. He could do this. Narrowing his eyes, Damian dodged Grayson’s attempt to trip him. “That’s all you got? Not that I expected anything else from all the sugar you had this morning.” 

Grayson snorted. “We’re just getting started, Kiddo. Don’t declare victory yet.”

Four seconds. His chest constricted, and he gritted his teeth. “Hm.” Skirting around Grayson, he threw a punch to his mentor’s back, fists fast as lightning. There was an atrocious squeal to his left as his fist missed and he rolled forward onto the ground.  _ Brown _ . Damian glowered, rocking back up to a standing offensive position just as Grayson stepped away.

“Not bad, Dami.” Grayson dusted his hands off and flashed a grin at Brown as she skipped over to them.

Damian grunted. Saliva or something caught in his throat, and he coughed. It wasn’t bad, it was awful. If his mother had seen this match, she would be ashamed of him. “Hm.”

“It was  _ awesome _ !” Brown grinned. “It was so close until the end there.” Turning to Damian, she patted his shoulder (despite being told on  _ multiple  _ occasions not to touch him). “Good job.”

He tore away from her and headed for the gathering of water bottles on a table. The two bats behind him replayed (in very loud and excited tones) the match, but Damian ignored them. He whipped his sweating hands on his workout pants and unscrewed his water bottle lid, inhaling a large gulp of water. Or tried to. Sticky stuff caught in the back of his throat, and he barely choked his water down. Damian cleared his throat, forcing air into his lungs. He was out of breath. He shouldn’t be out of breath already. Or sweaty. Or this thirsty. Brows furrowing in agitation, he leaned against the wall, the energy draining from him as soon as his shoulder hit the wall. Not good. Pushing off the wall, Damian ran his fingers through his hair and turned to get another sip of water.

From behind him, Brown and Grayson approached, and Grayson grabbed his own water once they reached him. “You doing okay, kiddo?” Grayson frowned, studying him, and Damian shifted his water up over his face to take another drink. “You look a bit pale.”

“ _ You _ look a bit pale.” Damian set the bottle down and screwed the lid back on. It was probably just the cold or something. Once they got into the heat of sparring, everything would straighten out. He was Damian Wayne, son of Batman and Talia al Ghul. Even if he was sick, he could handle a little cold. “Ready to go again?”

Brown shot him a look, which he ignored, and pointed two fingers at her eyes before dragging them across to point at him, her favorite way of letting people know she was watching them. He rolled his eyes and started off at a jog toward the sparring mats, ignoring the tickle in his throat. “Come on, slowpoke! I’m going to call a regular match if you don’t hurry up.”

“Hey! I’m the eldest here, not you!” Slamming his water bottle down, Grayson bolted over to the sparring mats with a laugh. 

“Tt.” Damian put his hands on his hips. “Like that means anything.” But in Grayson’s eyes it meant practically everything, so guess who got to determine sparring rules. Eventually Brown went away, leaving them in the joyous intensity of battle. Despite how sapped his energy reserves remained, each successful block and attack sent enough adrenaline and excitement flooding through his veins. He won a few rounds, but unfortunately, Grayson was winning the majority. 

Just as he was about to finally call another victory for himself, Pennyworth arrived in the cave, a tray of steaming hot liquid in the “bat cave” teacups. (The butler had one too many of the fancy teacups broken by irresponsible  _ children _ and now brought heavy duty cups whenever he came down.) The arrival of Pennyworth distracted Grayson long enough for Damian to inflict a satisfying punch to his opponent’s shoulder, and he smirked inwardly. “My points, Richard.” He stood up, blinking away the dots in his vision. 

Grayson dramatically rolled over with a groan, flopping into a heap on the floor. “You got meeee.” 

“I did.” Damian straightened his spine, holding his head a little higher despite the growing ache in his skull.

“Master Damian.”

He spared a glance for the  _ beloved _ manor butler before turning his gaze back to Grayson. “Are you prepared for another match?”

“G’ve muh uh sec.” Grayson’s muffled voice emerged from the mats, and Damian rolled his eyes, kicking his toe against Grayson’s side.

“Get up.”

“Aye!” His older brother shot up, attempting to knock Damian off his feet. “Show some respect to your elders!”

Sidestepping the attempted attack, Damian put his hands on his hips. “You’re not an elder.” 

Grayson smirked, jumping to his feet. “I’m older than you.” He finger gunned at Damian triumphantly. “So there.” 

“That’s not how it works, Grayson. Did they teach you anything?” His brother was such an idiot sometimes.

Pennyworth cleared his throat, and both boys froze. “Tea. And Master Damian, your training is over for today before your cold turns into anything worse as it has done in the past.”

Tt. Damian spluttered, stalking over to take a teacup off the tray. “I don’t have a cold, Pennyworth. Leave me alone.”

“We’ll see about that. Go clean up and head to your room.” Pennyworth’s firm voice, enhanced by the cave, reverberated through Damian’s head and it took everything he had not to wince.

“I’m  _ fine.  _ Go worry about someone else.” If it was possible to sip your tea aggressively, he did it now, jaw tight. How did Pennyworth even know? He hadn’t even seen the butler recently. Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits. Wait. “Brown! I’m going to  _ murder  _ you in your sleep with your stupid sparkly purple waffles!” Growling, he slammed the cup back down against the tray. Wherever she was. He was going to find her, and when he did oooooh, she was going to regret tattling to Pennyworth.

“Hey!” Grayson caught him roughly by the arm and pulled him back. “You have seemed a little out of sorts today, D. It wouldn’t hurt.” His voice lowered into a near whisper. “Plus, I would not suggest going against Alfred. Never ends well.”

Never ends well. Pfft. They’d see about that. It wasn’t going to end well for—a tight squeeze on his arm pulled him from his thoughts. 

“Snap out of it, Damian.” Grayson turned around, putting both hands on Damian’s shoulders. “Just do what he asks.”

“Master Dick, if Master Damian is so against taking care of his health, we will let him carry on and reap the consequences.” The butler gathered the excess tea things and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you both later.” 

And then he was gone. 

Grayson cleared his throat, disapproval radiating off him as he turned away from Damian and toward the sparring mats. “If you’re “not sick”, let’s get back to work.” 

~*~

A chorus of happy duckling honks met Damian when he came into his room that evening. He half smiled, a now-familiar warmth filling his chest. They were such good baby ducks. Taking off his combat boots with a sigh, he trudged over to his bed and flopped onto it. (If he was dramatic like Grayson or the unbelievable Stephanie Brown, he would mention here that his legs ached and his head pounded  _ unbearably _ . Although he was proud that he had made it through all of practice without needing to go find a tissue.)

Titus jumped up onto the bed next to him, and he curled up next to the dog, welcoming his warmth. It had been a long day. Damian closed his eyes, pulling his knees to his chest. If he could just get a good night’s rest… 

Footsteps made their way down the hallway towards the door, and the muscles in his back tensed. It was Pennyworth. Blast. His brows furrowed, and he sat up, taking a deep breath to calm his body. Pennyworth knocked on the door, and Damian swung his legs down off the bed as the butler opened the door.

"Evening, Master Damian." Pennyworth strode into the room with a tray of hot tea (with the nice teacups this time) and looked around the room. "Did you just return?"

"Yes." He straightened his back and cleared his throat. When Pennyworth looked at you in that way, you just  _ knew _ you were in for it if you didn’t behave. "Thank you for the hot tea."

The butler smiled. “You are welcome, Master Damian. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Pulling his socks off, he tossed them into the laundry basket. Pennyworth squinted at him, and Damian shrugged. Lying to Pennyworth had proven to be a risky business in the past, but he  _ was _ fine. Just not...great. 

“How are you  _ really _ feeling, Master Damian?” Approaching the bed, Pennyworth pressed the back against his head against Damian’s forehead.

Instinctively, Damian leaned away from the hand, but Pennyworth’s other hand was behind his head in an instant, holding it still. “As I thought, you’re burning up.”

Well, now he was officially busted. Thanks, Brown. Damian sighed. “I’ve lived through worse. Your concern is touching, but it’s fine Pennyworth.”

The butler shook his head. “I disagree. I will talk to Master Bruce about giving you tomorrow and any subsequent necessary days off until you recover.” 

“I don’t need any days off!” Flying off the bed, Damian clenched his fists. He shut his eyes sharply, tensing as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. 

Before he could react, Pennyworth picked him off his feet, cradling him in his arms. 

Damian’s nose wrinkled. How demeaning. “It’ll do more harm than good.” He squirmed. “Now let me down.” 

“I will let you down when you promise to get into your pajamas and go straight to bed, young man.”

Damian swallowed, venturing to open his eyes as Pennyworth’s steady hold on him stilled the world around him. “Fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The butler set him down, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Better?”

Giving a begrudging nod, he headed for the bathroom. “I must put the ducklings to bed before I can sleep.”

“I can put the ducklings to bed, Master Damian. I insist you take care of yourself first.”

Damian paused by the bathroom door, frowning. “No. I must do it. They are very particular about their bedtime routine.”

“I see.” An annoying smile flicked on the butler’s face. “Once you are in bed, you can walk me through the steps and give me any other information you deem important in order to properly care for the ducklings. All right?” He locked eyes with Damian, waiting for his response. “Is that satisfactory, Master Damian?”

His insides squirmed. It really wasn’t, but Pennyworth would probably find a way to trap him to his bed in the most humiliating way if he didn’t agree. He sighed and turned into the bathroom. “Fine.” He closed the bathroom door behind him and hurried through his evening routine. Pennyworth was such a pain sometimes. As was Brown. His brows furrowed.  _ Everyone _ in this family was a pain at some point. Pulling his shirt over his head, Damian sighed. At least he had his ducklings. 

He pushed the door back open and hurried over to his bed, glancing at Pennyworth who sat in a chair beside his bed.

Pennyworth looked up from the book he was reading. “You were going to tell me about your ducklings, Master Damian?”

“Yes.” Damian cleared his throat and pulled the blankets back, crawling into bed. “In case you forgot, their names are—” Pausing, he leaned out of bed towards the ducklings. How was this going to work? He frowned.

“Let me give you a hand.” Pennyworth picked the box up and sat it next to him on the bed. 

“Well—oh. Thank you, Pennyworth. This,” Damian picked up the brightest yellow duckling. “Is Frederick. He gets lonely at night and likes to either sleep with me or be surrounded by his siblings.”

“I see.” Pennyworth nodded.

Holding Frederick close with one hand, Damian pointed out the others. “That’s Gema and Edmund is next to her. Then Juliet, Andrea, and Rupert. Juliet is very good at jumping out of the box, but Titus keeps an eye on her.” He frowned, glancing at Pennyworth to ensure the butler was following. “Understand?”

“Yes, I do, Master Damian. You take good care of them, and I will do my best to do the same. Do you feed them before you go to sleep?”

He shook his head. “In the morning and afternoon, they are fed. You have to be careful that Edmund does not eat everything. He thinks that because he is the leader, he gets all the food.” Frederick wriggled in his hands, and Damian set the duckling back in the box. “Do you have any other questions?”

“I do not. I’ll let you know if I do, Master Damian.” Putting the duckling box back on the ground, Pennyworth stood. “Get some rest.”

Damian repressed a sigh as he snuggled deeper under the blankets. “I will.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” The butler gave a small smile, ensuring everything in the duckling box was in proper order before making his way to the door.

“Wait. Pennyworth?”

“Yes, Master Damian?” He stopped by the door, looking back at Damian.

“The ducklings sometimes fight a lot.” A small laugh escaped him. “The little idiot birds. When they do. They normally just need someone to hold and talk with them. They are partial to cuddles as well.”

Pennyworth’s smile grew, and he gave a knowing nod. “Sounds familiar. Thank you for letting me know, Master Damian. Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Pennyworth.” 


End file.
